fall down seven times, get up eight
by cuddlesome
Summary: The Gates, the Lotus, fighting in general—they all harm Metal Lee's papa, and he is scared for him. Rock Lee has to assure him they will both be all right.


It's late at night when Metal Lee sees his papa demonstrate opening the third Gate for the first time. He's terrified. He can't help it. It's scary.

Papa builds to it, opening one after the other, arms crossed in front of his face. Then, all at once, he rips them aside. The motion reveals his countenance crumpling into something hostile; teeth gnashing, luxuriant eyebrows furrowing. His sclerae have overtaken his irises and pupils entirely. His skin turns a dark shade of red. His hair flares back with the force of the energy he exudes, an untamed mess.

Metal thinks he sees a trickle of blood stream out of his nose and his bad leg tremble right before he leaps into action. Metal lets out a dismayed gasp as he sinks his fingertips into the tree he's shielded himself behind at Papa's behest. To protect him from any debris, he'd said, and now that Metal can see all of the shrapnel flying through the air he understands. He shrinks back as feels the impact of a tree slamming into the earth more than thirty feet away.

Rock Lee doesn't notice his son's reaction as he goes through his exercises. He's too busy knocking down more trees and shattering boulders with kicks quicker than thought. The training dummies they had brought along explode with the barest touch of his fists. He fills the air with roaring kiai.

In a matter of seconds there's a wide circle of destruction in front of Metal.

"Wow," he whispers.

He's awed, just as his papa thought he would be, but more than that he's afraid that his father is going to get hurt doing stunts just for the sake of showing them to him. And then there's the matter of him looking like a rabid beast.

As if to prove it, Papa pauses for a moment to look at Metal over his shoulder with that horrible, bone-white stare. He's panting through his nose, teeth bared and flashing not in his usual smile but a wide snarl. Then, just as quickly as he'd looked, he turns his back again.

The destruction of the Lees' isolated training grounds goes on for another minute. Metal forces himself not to blink too much, partway because his papa's actions are so quick he might miss them if he does and partway to keep the tears from flowing freely down his face.

Finally, Rock Lee slows down. The moment that the flare of blue vapor fades and his papa's skin returns to its usual shade, Metal rushes forward to hug him.

"Papa—!" His voice breaks as he starts to cry in earnest.

Metal presses his face to his papa's middle to hide his expression. It ends up being counterproductive—he just gets tears and snot on him. The moisture-wicking fabric of his jumpsuit is promptly soaked.

"Metal?" His papa asks uncertainly, laying a hand on Metal's shuddering shoulder.

Metal shakes his head.

"Oh! I see!" Rock Lee leans down to hug Metal back. "Are you feeling overwhelmed by my grandiose display of youth?"

Papa comes to this conclusion with volume that the other kids call a "permanent outdoor voice." Metal defends him by telling them that his papa is outdoors most of the time, anyway, so it makes sense that he would want to be heard by way of yelling. Truth be told he's more embarrassed that his own version of his father's loudness is sometimes translated into nervous keening and squealing.

"I understand," his papa says. "I, too, have experienced being so impressed that I am moved to tears."

"No," Metal hugs Papa tighter, balling his fists in the fabric at his back and smushing his face into the muscled abdominals beneath his suit. "No, that is not it."

His anxiety is spiking something terrible with the pressure of telling his father the very thing that the both of them had been so excited for scared him. Metal can feel the muscles in his papa's back and belly trembling beneath his jumpsuit with aftershocks of the strain they had just been put through. It's subtle, but it's there. The same goes for the bared arms wrapped around him. The shaking goes right down to the bandaged fingers that are combing through Metal's hair in an attempt to placate him. More disturbing than that, Papa's whole body feels too hot. Not the good sort of body heat that comes with a workout. This heat is something feverish. Metal shudders.

"Metal," his papa says, sterner than before, ceasing his petting, "get a hold of yourself. There is no need to get overwrought on my account."

"I am so sorry, but I was scared. I am still scared. I thought you might get hurt if you pushed yourself so far." After a moment Metal adds, "And… Papa, when you were all red, you looked like an oni."

Immediately Metal wishes that he could grab the words out of the air and cram them back in his mouth. He might have grossly offended his papa with such a statement. He opens his mouth again to babble an apology but Rock Lee doesn't miss a beat.

"An oni?" He lets out a bark of laughter and claps Metal on the back. "I like the sound of that! Oni ni kanabō, right? And as for that other thing… look at me."

Slowly, Metal pulls his face away from his papa's middle and glances up at his face, sniffling. Rock Lee flashes a bright, broad smile at his son and gives him a thumbs-up. He still doesn't feel completely reassured, but the token look is comforting. Metal Lee sniffs hard and gives a wobbly nice guy pose in return. He doesn't want his father to think that he's a coward.

After that, Metal cleans his face off the best he can with the inside of his scarf. While he still has his face buried in the orange fabric, his papa lifts him up. He starts, but relaxes as Rock Lee puts him on his shoulders. Metal peeks over his scarf as he braces his legs around Papa's neck. This is something he can't recall him doing since he was much littler, but of course Papa is more than strong enough to still carry him. Metal lets go of his scarf and places his hands on top of Papa's head.

"Ready?" Papa asks, poising to run.

"Ready."

His papa leans back out of position and shrugs his shoulders in reprimand. "That was not nearly enough enthusiasm!"

"Um… I am ready!" Metal tries.

"METAL," Rock Lee bellows, pumping one fist in the air, "I WANT THE ENTIRE VILLAGE TO HEAR THE FORCE OF YOUR VOICE AND DETERMINATION!"

Metal winces and hopes that he's not about to disturb anyone who's already gone to bed.

He takes in a deep breath, then answers in the loudest shout he can muster, "I AM MORE READY THAN I HAVE EVER BEEN IN MY LIFE, PAPA!"

Truth be told, Metal can't begin to compete with his father's booming voice and his sentiment has a prepubescent highness to it, but Papa seems satisfied with it.

"Yes!" He grabs hold of Metal's legs. "All right, let's go!"

Rock Lee takes off running with his famous speed. The terrain whips by in dark smudges backlit by moonlight. Metal can't keep down the giggle that bubbles up in his throat. It's no less fun than the last time they had done this years ago. He laughs a little, then a little harder, and his papa belts out an answering laugh.

They arrive home far too quickly. Metal would have been content to view the world in a blur from a great height forever, even if it is a little dizzying. He stumbles but doesn't fall once Papa sets him down, leaning against one of his strong legs for support.

They both rehydrate to recover from their intensive routine once they're inside. Papa goes to prepare their bath after that.

Metal peels his training clothes and bandages off. Too late he remembers an injury he'd sustained one of his hands the day before as the last of the bandages come off. He hides it behind his back as he enters the ofuroba.

Papa is already way ahead of him. He is inside and stripped nude, rinsing off outside of the gently steaming ofuro. It takes a liberal amount of water and soap to wash away all of the sweat that his body produced with the Gates open.

Metal takes a seat on the stool at his feet. He tries to disguise the injury on his hand by casually setting it down on his leg and placing his other hand over it, but Papa is more perceptive than he gives him credit for.

He gets down on one knee next to Metal and points at his hand almost at once. "Metal. What is that?"

"I—"

Metal makes the mistake of turning his head and making eye contact. He yelps at the intensity he finds in his Papa's gaze. Without even making a conscious decision, he jerks his hand into view.

Rock Lee takes Metal's hand in his, pulling it to eye level to examine the torn skin across his knuckles.

"It is only a few little scrapes," Metal protests. "I have had way worse."

And so have you, he wants to add but doesn't.

Metal had been in a rush and done a bad job of applying the gauze on one of his hand wraps before training. He consequently busted his knuckles open against a tree stump. He knew that his papa would fuss over it as he is doing right now, so he had neglected to tell him. Papa didn't tend to scold him for sustaining battle injuries—it would be impractical for a ninja to do such a thing—but he did put preventative measures in place. It was why he had been so careful in his introduction of leg weights for his son. He lectured Metal about potential joint pain that could arise before allowing him to add tiny increments of weight beneath his leg warmers over time. Before that, Papa had taken the time to wrap Metal's hands up in bandages himself when they were too small, chubby, and clumsy to do wrap themselves (and when none of these aspects prevented a younger Metal from practicing his punches to emulate his papa).

Papa's eyebrows furrow as he frowns, brushing his thumb over the abrasions and bruising on Metal's knuckles. Metal finds this examination somewhat hypocritical given that the very hand that is holding his has all sorts of damage that is far worse. Rock Lee's knuckles have layers of scar tissue evidencing where they had broken and bruised again and again. On his left hand there's a deviation in the form of a white line where he'd had a nasty cut on his knuckle that needed to be stitched up.

Furthermore, his left arm and leg have evidence of invasive surgery scars rather than battle scars. Metal's seen enough of Gai-sensei's scars to know the difference.

Papa's smiles were strained when Metal asked about those particular injuries. He told him that those were his "bad" limbs thanks to comminuted fractures and consequent surgery he'd suffered when he was younger, but he didn't elaborate on how it had happened.

It's one of those "when you're older" sorts of things.

Metal wonders what makes those a sore subject as opposed to all the other stitched up places from shallow nicks and deep slices thanks to shuriken and kunai and who knows what else that had torn up Rock Lee. He and Gai-sensei seemed eager to tell exaggeratedly exciting stories of battles at the top of their lungs most of the time.

Metal is brought out of his thoughts by a sting across his knuckles. He bites his lip to keep from making a noise.

"Be more careful," Lee chastises as he rubs a cloth smelling strongly of disinfectant over the damage. "You should have told me about this so I could clean it right away. It is detrimental to keep training with an open wound. You are lucky it did not get infected."

"Yes, Papa," Metal says.

He begins to clean himself up in preparation for soaking with soap and water, washing away sweat and grime from the day's training. Then he is treated to his father washing his hair. Papa knows just the right amount of pressure to apply to Metal's scalp with his fingers and makes quick work of any tangles in his hair. Papa had purchased a shampoo with a lotus fragrance as more of a joke than anything else, but Metal loves the soft, clean smell in addition to its association with Papa's secret technique. The combination of the flowery scent, the heat of the room, and Papa's hands working through his hair has Metal starting to doze off. His eyes fall shut and he leans to one side, almost falling off of the stool.

Metal is awoken when he has a bucket of water poured over his head to rinse him off. He starts and sits up straight again.

Papa brushes Metal's sopping bangs out of his eyes and comments, "You need a haircut soon."

Metal anticipates having a bowl plonked on top of his head in the near future. He climbs into the ofuro before Papa can get any ideas about doing it right then and there.

Metal hisses between his teeth in an expression part grimace and part smile as he lowers himself into the hot water, first one leg, then the other, then sinking up to his neck. The heat is a bit unpleasant until it isn't. His papa, meanwhile, hurls himself in with a motion bordering on a dynamic entry, sending water sloshing over the side of the ofuro. With that sort of entrance, Metal is surprised when Papa ends up taking up a relaxed position in one end of the bath, leaning up against one side and sighing through his nose. He braces his arms on the wooden sides. The slack pose belies his usual playful and talkative habits during baths. Unfortunately, it also gives Metal an even clearer view of his scars than before. His eyes are drawn to the ones scored across his ribs like claw marks, too close to his heart. He imagines during the use of the Gates the white, tough skin would be highlighted in pink detail, like raw meat, when the rest of Papa was dark red.

Metal looks away. He knows that whenever something upsets him, his papa will lend his ear and give advice. But this…

He squares his shoulders finally works up the guts to start broaching the subject that's been bothering him all night. With his fists clenched beneath the water, he turns to Papa and opens his mouth. Just as quickly, it snaps shut.

Just like Metal had earlier when he had his hair washed, Rock Lee's eyes have fallen shut and his head dips with sleepiness. His strong, sharp features look a little softer now. He must be exhausted.

Metal reconsiders speaking up, only to have Papa's eyes slide partway open to look at him as if he'd felt his gaze.

"What is it?"

Metal mimics Rock Lee's pose and sighs in an attempt to relax.

Despite knowing it will appear to be something of a non sequitur, Metal says, "Papa, Haruno-san once told me that when you were my age, you would push yourself to keep working through severe injuries while hospitalized."

He gazes at him with his eyebrows slightly raised. "Yes, that is true. Did she tell you what happened next?"

"She said you knocked yourself out."

Metal didn't have trouble imagining his father doing such a thing, but it was a worrying image nonetheless.

"Right. I have learned since then not to let all of my hot-blooded passion get to my head." He taps his temple with his index finger.

At Metal's skeptical look, he amends, "Most of the time."

Metal lets his arms fall from where they are resting and sinks a little further into the water. "Even when you open the Gates? Or use the Lotus?"

"Well, maybe not then. A bit of hot-bloodedness is required for those."

Metal sinks even further, to the point that his mouth is barely above the water. "I wish you would not resort to them so often. I do not like seeing you hurt."

Rock Lee's eyes get impossibly wider and rounder. He puts one fist into his open palm.

"Metal, are you still worried about my use of the Gates earlier?"

He figured it out, almost.

"Not just that. The Gates, the Lotus. Papa… you have so many old injuries and scars. So many brushes with death."

Papa places a hand on top of Metal's head and dunks him underwater. Metal comes up sputtering.

"Do not be so grim! You need to give me more credit. Not all of my injuries have been life-threatening." Papa points to a tiny scar on his jawline. "For example: this is where I cut myself shaving for the first time. Gai-sensei was hysterical."

Metal pouts. "Papa, that is not what I meant and you know it."

Rock Lee lifts one leg partway out of the water. "This bruise on my toe… I wish I could say it was from delivering a strong kick to an opponent, but I actually just tripped and stepped on my own foot during my morning jog yesterday. I was just so excited."

"Why?"

Papa grins. "Because it was a beautiful day! The sunrise was the color of pink dango."

Metal starts to smile back despite himself.

"And this burn, ah, I am not sure about this one… probably super-hot spilt curry… and these scars are from where I broke broke a bottle of sake and—well, maybe you do not need to hear about those." He wraps a strong arm around Metal and hugs him to his side. "The point is, I have been roughed up by a variety of things over the years and I am still standing. When my body goes through something truly dangerous, do you know what I think?"

Metal wraps an arm around Papa's middle and leans against one side of his chest, allowing himself to be soothed by the sound of his heartbeat. The scar tissue against his cheek isn't as bothersome as he thought it would be.

"What? What do you think?"

"I think…" He makes a fist with his free hand and stares down an imaginary opponent. "'Oh no! This is a lot! but even if I fall, I will get back up! Nana korobi ya oki!' And do you know why I always think that?"

For once, "youth" doesn't seem like the right answer, so Metal guesses:

"Determination?"

Papa laughs and lowers his fist. "Well, yes, that, but also something else."

Maybe one of his father's favorite words?

"Guts?"

"Also that, but no."

Perhaps…

"…love?"

Papa gives him an affectionate squeeze. "Yes! Exactly! Those other things, too, but love most of all. I love too many people to name, but especially you. No matter what sort of pain I go through, that keeps me going. I am not going to leave you for a long, long time, Metal. I can promise you that between my skills and the medical-nins'. I do not want you to be sad for me. I am your papa! Let me worry about your safety, son, not the other way around."

For the second time that night, Metal feels his eyes start to fill with tears. They are more touched than sad, though, and he lets them flow freely.

"Papa…" He hiccups. "Papa, I love you too."

"Let us not ruin the bathwater with our tears," Papa says, but he has also started to cry.

Metal is more comfortable looking at his papa's scars after that—kunai-scars and curry-burns alike—and the use of the Gates is a bit less scary. He can trust that Papa is strong enough to handle it. And if he ever isn't, well, he'll have his son there to offer his love and support. No amount of battle damage will ever change that.


End file.
